


Glorious Gloria

by escspace



Series: people ruining Frankenstein’s life as if he does not do so himself [1]
Category: Noblesse (Manhwa)
Genre: Family, Gen, Modern Ragar AU, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-07
Updated: 2020-06-12
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:54:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23521147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/escspace/pseuds/escspace
Summary: Gloria Woo is a model citizen. She is recognized globally within her field for her work in biochemical engineering. She has black belts in Judo, Jujitsu, and Wushu along with several gold medals. She lives in a beautiful, modern 4500 square foot home on a hilltop with her CEO husband. Her son gets top marks at his high school, and her daughter studies physics at Harvard University. Every morning, at five in the morning, she wakes, makes her bed, and does half an hour of yoga before breakfast as she watches the sun rise. Gloria Woo is perfect and lives the perfect life.It is a shame her next door neighbor happens to be Frankenstein.
Relationships: Cadis Etrama di Raizel/Frankenstein (Noblesse), Frankenstein (Noblesse)/Ragar Kertia, Frankenstein/Ragar Kertia/Cadis Etrama Di Raizel, Ragar Kertia/Cadis Etrama di Raizel
Series: people ruining Frankenstein’s life as if he does not do so himself [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2024098
Comments: 19
Kudos: 50
Collections: Modern Mundanity, The Modern Kertia Expansion Pack: Keeping Up with the Kertias





	1. Overbeaten

It is six in the morning; the sky is pale blue and the air is crisp as she steps out of her front door, sharply dressed in dark, understated couture. The doors of her sci-fi inspired Tesla car swing open dramatically for her as she approaches.

She takes a moment to look over to her right at her neighbor’s home, bustling at this early hour. A shadow runs across the window; there is some raucous yelling from one of the boys. It is the shining, glamorous home of the kind, esteemed Chairman Lee. She sees him, in his black suit and perfectly tousled golden hair, step out of his own front door and into his courtyard.

Gloria smiles brightly. “Good morning!” she calls out above the flowering shrubbery separating their properties.

Chairman Lee turns to her, an expression of gentle surprise lighting up his face. He smiles as well, that charming Chairman Lee smile that rivals the warmth of the rising sun that she watches through her expansive bedroom window every morning. “Good morning, Mrs. Woo,” he responds politely. “You are headed out rather early today.”

“I do this every day. I don’t have to be at the lab until nine, but I like to slip in a couple extra hours in the morning.” Proud and with child-like enthusiasm, she places her hands on her hips and turns her face dramatically upwards. Her chest swells with a deep, appreciative breath for the new day. “Nothing beats an early morning start!” Curiously, she blinks at him. “But I usually don’t see you at this hour, Chairman Lee. Have your boisterous housemates disturbed your much needed beauty rest?” She chuckles lightheartedly.

There is a second of strange, fractured silence between them, as if something has been miscommunicated. Chairman Lee’s generous smile stiffens, and there is a slight crease in between his brows, like he is picking apart her words in his mind with great concentration. His face quickly relaxes again, and he offers to chuckle along with her, smoothing their silence over. “Oh, yes—haha—how insightful of you, Mrs. Woo.” He straightens his elegant black blazer even though it clearly does not need it, and turns towards his front door. “Well, I should not delay your productive morning any longer. Perhaps I will see you again later.” He punctuates this with a smile and opens his door.

“Perhaps!” Gloria beams as she gets into her luxury car.

They leave each other to their own lives for the time being.

* * *

Her current research consists of the viral infiltration of cancer cells for the purposes of transcription splicing in programmed cell death, and after a long day in the lab, Gloria picks up her bags, gets in her car, and goes to the gym.

She changes in the locker room from her button up and slacks and into a snug tank top and flexible tights. As she catches her toned form in the mirror, Gloria Woo takes stock of the definition of the shadows on her exposed arms and shoulders as she makes a tight, powerful fist, her hand carefully wrapped with white cloth. She smiles to herself and heads out to meet her private kickboxing instructor.

Fiercely, she grunts, and the heavy duty punching back shudders from her explosive kick. She impresses her instructor that day.

* * *

That evening, Frankenstein returns from a dreadful day of paperwork and asinine, bureaucratic meetings. He has only just stepped out of his black Mercedes Benz when he hears a deep voice, the man’s Korean tinged with a slight American accent.

“Mister Lee!” It is his neighbor, dark hair slicked back and silver rimmed glasses balanced on his nose. He has the face of a vague movie-star, chiseled and romantic, well-aged. “Good evening!” He smiles, bright and blinding and in his arms are big, wonderful roses, the finest nature has to offer. Their redness, nestled in deep, dark green, seems to bleed into the very air.

Frankenstein musters up a smile in return, not to be outdone. “Good evening Mr. Woo.” His eyes drift down to the flowers. “Those are some beautiful roses,” he placates vapidly but with enough emotion to pass as a jovial, well-meaning neighbor. “Is it for an occasion?”

“Oh! No—well, anything can be an occasion if you make it one. I just passed by this flower shop, absolutely had to get them! My wife will like them.”

Discreetly, Frankenstein glances back to his own section of garden, assessing his blooms critically against the one in the man’s arms. “Indeed,” he says.

“I can give you their address, if you’d like to get something for your own Missus!”

Frankenstein blinks. “I’m sorry?”

“Nicest flowers I’ve seen. I think your wife will like them too.”

“My...wife?” Frankenstein’s mind is suddenly slow and dumb. 

“Yes!” The man nods. “I saw her return with the Benz last night and helped her bring the grocery bags in. She’s rather quiet, isn’t she?”

Frankenstein’s mind works to recall who it was who took the car shopping, and it dawns on him that his friendly, oh so helpful neighbor is referring to Ragar. “Ah, yes...quiet,” Frankenstein says. He wonders for how long the Woo’s have thought that their relationship was one of husband and wife but does not bother clearing up the misunderstanding for his own convenience if anyone’s. ‘Husband and wife’ is a lot easier to believe and explain than immortal vampire friend anyway. What they have is close enough to marriage for the most part if Frankenstein were forced to give it such a label.

“Well, thank you for your help, Mr. Woo, but I mustn’t keep you any longer.” Frankenstein opens his gate. “Good night.”

“Good night, Mr. Lee.”

The next day, M-21 and Takeo wake to find freshly cut roses in a vase in the middle of the living room coffee table being scrutinized by Frankenstien.

He finally nods to himself, satisfied. “Mine are bigger,” he mutters under his breath.

* * *

The pyramids of fresh fruit shine with white speculars from the bright white lights of the supermarket. The scent of peaches, apples, durian, pears, and other sweet, earthly delights wafts through the air, humming with peaceful activity as people push carts down aisles bordered by shelves and shelves of ingredients.

Frankenstein gazes upward, sharp, discerning in eyes seeking with missile precision for only the best stick of butter in the open fridge. Once he makes his selection, he carefully places it in the cart alongside the flour, baking soda, strawberries, and kiwis. 

As he weaves through the rest of the store, he spots in the corner of his eye: a pair of pink kitchen gloves, thirty percent off. The wheels of his cart squeak quietly as he makes his way over. But then, as cruel fate would have it, a delicate foreign hand reaches for the pair of gloves.

Frankenstein stands still with silent shock at having the last pair of on sale kitchen gloves robbed from him right in front of his eyes. His hold tightens around the handle of the shopping cart.

Gloria Woo herself, newly acquired gloves folded and placed into the eco-friendly reusable tote bag hanging from her shoulders, notices Frankenstein. From a distance she beams at him and waves. “Oh, Chairman Lee!” she greets, stepping over, encroaching upon Frankenstein’s territory. “Funny seeing you here.”

Frankenstein blinks, a split second to rearrange his expression and demeanor. He smiles at her as well. “Mrs. Woo, a pleasure to see you again so soon, though I suspect we will be seeing more of each other during the neighborhood potluck this weekend.”

She nods, perfectly well-meaning, as she always is. Then, an entirely more devious and sly expression slips over her dark brown eyes as she glances down at Frankenstein’s cart. “Are you perhaps doing a bit of grocery shopping in preparation for the cake competition?”

Frankenstein stiffens, but it is surely imperceptible to his opponent’s eyes. “You’ve caught me,” he admits with charismatic ease.

Gloria smiles and pats her cheek with her fingers, flashing him an expression of admiration. “You’re so good at these things. I’m always so amazed by your food when you come to these neighborhood parties.” She chuckles airily. “You’ll win this time for sure, haha! Baking’s not my specialty.”

Frankenstein cracks an amicable grin with some significant effort. His loss to Gloria Woo’s kalguksu for best noodle dish during last winter’s neighborhood cooking competition is still too fresh in his mind — utter humiliation not even Dark Spear dares to curse him with. “We’ll see,” he says to her. He gives a blind glance to his watch, not really caring for the time. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Woo, I’d love to continue talking, but I’ve got a few errands to run before it gets too late.” In reality, he has all day.

“Of course! I’ll see you this weekend then.” She begins to turn, attitude as deceptively cheery as always. “Bye, Chairman Lee!”

Frankenstein nods.

She trots away, energetic even at this age.

When she is out of sight, Frankenstein turns back to the space where the pink kitchen gloves should have been. He clicks his tongue.

* * *

_“I’m sure you’ll win this time?”_ The rhythmic beat of steel whisk against copper bowl reaches a high screech. “Who does she think she is?”

“Frankenstein.”

“She thinks she’s so good at everything just because she has halfway decent soup and noodles?”

“Frankenstein.”

“I had my eyes on those gloves first…” The handle of the whisk is almost bending under the force of Frankenstein’s grip, and the blur of his hand moving side to side puts any electric whisk to shame. 

“Frankenstein, you’re overbeating the eggs.”

Frankenstein freezes, arms stopped dead in their tracks. When he looks down, he finally realizes that his once fluffy egg whites have become a grainy mess collapsed in his bowl and clumped around his whisk. His mouth flattens into an annoyed line. “Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”

Ragar stares at him above the screen of the Nintendo Switch in his hands, elbows resting on the cold granite kitchen island. He looks equally unamused, and Frankenstein gets the message.

He sighs and scrapes the ruined ingredients into a bin. “I’ll have to start over,” Frankenstein murmurs.

* * *

The Park’s household is located a few blocks away, slightly lower in elevation on the hill from Frankenstein’s home. By the time Frankenstein, Ragar, and Raizel arrive, the sprawling courtyard is already alive with people bringing in food and giving each other good greetings and well wishes. Classical music plays from an expensive sound system from the inside and sweeps out into the gardens. Shoes clack on the flagstone walkway.

Frankenstein cradles his prized box in his hands. Inside is the cake he has spent hours laboring over and decorating to perfection, fruit cut with precision and flower petals carefully constructed from cream.

“Ah, Mr. Lee!” an aged, silver-haired gentleman greets. He saunters over and gives Frankenstein a hearty pat on the back, causing the box to jerk forward and Frankenstein to chill.

Frankenstein quickly composes himself enough to smile and offer a polite greeting in return. “It is good to see you, Mr. Park.”

Mr. Park nods, grinning. He eyes the box in Frankenstein’s hands. “That must be your cake. I must say, you’re up against some stiff competition this time, Mr. Lee. There’s Mr. Chevalier and, of course, my sister Gloria.”

Frankenstein raises his box in practiced good sportsmanship. “May the best cake win.”

“Indeed.” Mr. Park strokes his chin. “But even if not, I get to eat all these great cakes! How very unkind to my blood sugar.” He laughs deeply. “Though, my wife and Mrs. Bu will be the ones you need to impress. Good luck, Mr. Lee!” Mr. Park ushers Frankenstein inside to place his box on the table as more guests roll in.

* * *

Ragar watches the two neighborhood kids chase each other around the perimeter of the yard. Beside him is Raizel, who daintily sips at a mixture of sparkling water and juice offered by the host to cool them in the warm spring weather. They are shaded under a large garden canopy.

“You must be Mrs. Lee,” someone says to Ragar, waking him from his blank concentration.

He turns and it is Mrs. Woo who looks at him with friendly curiosity.

“I can’t believe it’s taken us this long to properly introduce ourselves,” she says. “Even though I’ve seen you with Chairman Lee a few times already.”

“I am Ragar Kertia,” he says.

“Oh!” A flicker of surprise widens Mrs. Woo’s eyes. Her eyes slip up and down, as if reassessing Ragar, working out a quick puzzle in her mind as to why a man’s wife might have a different surname. Perhaps it is a sign of the times. She smiles again. “Well, it’s a pleasure, Mrs. Kertia. I’m Gloria Woo.” She holds out her gentle hand.

Ragar takes a long look at it before reaching out for a firm, succinct handshake. “So I have heard.”

After their brief interaction, Mrs. Woo turns her attention to Raizel. “I don’t believe we’ve properly been introduced either, but I’d recognize that uniform anywhere. You’re one of the Chairman’s students?”

Raizel nods.

She holds out her hand for him as well. “It’s also a pleasure to meet you…”

“Cadis Etrama di Raizel.” Raizel takes her hand.

“Are you related to the Chairman in anyway?”

Their hands part. “I am…” Raizel’s words are drawn out into silence, an acceptable human answer eluding him. “We are very close,” he finally says.

For once, Mrs. Woo’s face creases with a subtly alarmed expression, but she quickly smooths it over. “I see…”

After a few more pleasantries, they part ways and Mrs. Woo disappears into the tame party.

“Sir Raizel…” Ragar begins. “I believe there has been a misunderstanding.”

Raizel finishes the rest of his juice. “I believe so as well.”

* * *

The afternoon fades into the evening, and the light cocktails begin to roll out of the house through the smoke and scent of a sizzling barbecue.

“Alright!” Mr. Park announces in the middle of the activity. “Before everyone gets too unhinged, let’s hear the results of the competition!” He smiles and bows dramatically in deference as he motions to a small woman standing to his right. “Would the esteemed Mrs. Park do us the honors?”

The woman laughs bashfully, exasperated but well situated with her husband’s antics. “All of the cakes were beautiful and delicious. Boy was it a tough decision, but, at the end of the day, we have to give it to… Gloria Woo!”

The audience claps and cheers good naturedly.

“There’s still plenty of cake left though, so help yourself inside the house!” Mr. Park bellows.

Several people immediately beeline in and the bustle of the party resumes.

Ragar glances to his side to find the space Frankenstein once occupied empty. He looks down and turns the margarita in his hand before tipping his mask down to toss the rest of the drink down his throat. He looks to Sir Raizel on his other side.

They exchange knowing nods and slip away from the festivities together.

They find Frankenstein in the car, alone and silent as he rests his forehand on the backs of his hands that are planted on the wheel. He does not seem to even notice them until Ragar yanks open the door for Sir Raizel to slide into the passenger seat.

Ragar takes a seat in the back.

Raizel pats Frankenstein gently on the shoulder.

After an eternity of silence, the engine purrs to life. Frankenstein lifts his head from the wheel. “I need a drink,” he says. The car begins to turn away from the curb.


	2. The Perfect

Instead of going to a bar as is customary for a drink, Frankenstein drives to a local grocery store and swifly purchases two full bottles of liquor to take back to the car. Settled in the black leather seats, he smoothly uncaps one of the bottles and pulls his usual mix of drink 'enhancements' from his jacket pocket to pour into the alcohol. The other bottle, he tosses back to Ragar along with the remaining drug in his vial.

Ragar follows suit and spikes his own drink.

Frankenstein reaches for his opposite pocket. "For you, Master," he says as he extends an offering of a dry packet of ramen, which promptly lights up Raizel's face.

A soft crinkle and Raizel delicately tears open the packet to reveal his treat. A quiet munch follows.

Frankenstein's expression softens at seeing his master quaintly pleased. He smiles slightly at him before tilting the heavy glass bottle of burning, bitter amber liquid down his throat. His eyes squint slightly at this reckless alcohol habit, but he sighs in satisfaction when he lowers the bottle, feeling the kick of narcotics and the blurred warmth of whiskey.

Behind him, Ragar quietly clears his throat after swallowing his fair share, tugging at his mask. "Perhaps you will win next time, Frankenstein," he says in an attempt to soothe bruised pride.

This only causes Frankenstein's expression to sour at the reminder of his continued defeat. Gloria Woo, impeccable, perfect, and only forty-something years old has again managed to best _him;_ he who has spent more time cooking, cleaning, baking, and saving people from mortal danger than she has been alive or will ever live. "Sure, next time..." Frankenstein croaks, disdainful. He takes another swig from his bottle.

His face warms, and the edges of reality shift in and out of focus, becoming pleasantly fuzzed. Almost enough for him to temporarily forget his shortcomings. "How do you suppose she does it?" Frankenstein asks, not really to anyone. "Her cooking can't be _that_ good; it's...impossible. She wins...every time..." He rubs one side of his warm face with a worrying hand. "There has to be something more. She's probably sleeping with the judges."

"Frankenstein." Liquid poison sloshes against glass as Ragar lowers his bottle. "Mrs. Bu is one of the neighborhood aunties and Mrs. Park is Mrs. Woo's sister in law. They've all been married with husbands for years."

"So a scandalous, semi-incestuous affair is what you're suggesting."

Ragar sighs and resumes drinking.

Frankenstein huffs, further sinking into his seat as he gazes forward out the window to watch the sparsely populated parking lot. Harsh lights illuminate the asphalt as night overtakes the sky. "She can't just be _better_ than me...can she?"

Raizel finishes his uncooked ramen with a final crunch.

Frankenstein and Ragar drink into the night.

* * *

It is midnight, and Frankenstein stumbles out of the car with two empty bottles in his hands to shuffle over to a trashcan. He clumsily tosses them in, hearing the harsh clang of glass upon impact, before returning to the car.

Ragar has stepped out as well and stops him with a restraining hand from getting into the driver's seat. "You're not driving," he declares.

"Then I suppose _you_ are?" Frankenstein smirks up at his friend, challenging. He knows, that despite Ragar's calm, collected facade, he is just as inebriated.

Ragar narrows his eyes critically, considerate. "...No, I will not."

The thud of the passenger door snaps their attention to Raizel. He steps over to Frankenstein. "I will drive."

"Ah, Master...but..."

"Ragar has shown me how, at my request."

"I — I see."

Raizel gives Frankenstein a firm, reassuring nod, imparting upon him a fraction of confidence. He slides into the driver's seat and places his hands on the wheel, gazing forward with insurmountable steadfastness. "Let us go," he says.

* * *

Frankenstein does not remember falling asleep in the backseat, but he is jolted awake by the jerk and rumble of the car. He quickly sits up, eyes darting around. When he looks out the window, he sees dark forest stretching out in every direction. "Where are we?"

"I do not know..." Raizel's quiet voice replies.

Frankenstein looks at Ragar sitting beside him and lifting his sleepy head from Frankenstein's shoulder. Ragar returns his bewildered stare, just as clueless.

"We're offroad," Frankenstein comments dumbly.

A sudden jerk forward, a dreadful thud and crack, and the car groans to a halt in the dirt, one of its side-view mirrors broken off and its hood scratched by a looming tree.

Ragar, being rather partial to shiny, sleek and fast cars, blanches, and they stare on in silence at nothing.

"We are out of fuel," Raizel finally announces.

Frankenstein blinks, then he blinks again. He takes in a breath and runs a hand through his hair before rubbing at his face.

The hangover hits him like a train, and frantically, his other hand scrambles for the door. When he finally manages to shove it open, he tumbles out on unsteady legs and buckles over to throw up, his mouth bitter and his hand supporting himself against the tree that his car has run into. He hardly notices the soft, swift movement of Ragar trailing after him to kindly hold his hair back.

Frankenstein coughs and pathetically spits out the last of his sickness. "Urgh..."

Ragar sighs and looks away into the distance, sparing whatever shred of dignity Frankenstein still retains.

"I have checked," Ragar says after a while. "There is no cell signal here. We will be unable to call for service."

Frankenstein straightens and wipes his mouth with a handkerchief as he leans his back against the rough bark of the tree. He peers up at the sky peeking through the leaves; it is a dark, inky blue, likely the light of the early morning.

Raizel emerges from the car. Leaves crunch under his footsteps as he approaches and lays a comforting hand on Frankenstein's shoulder, a familiar, intimate gesture. "It was unwise of me to drive," Raizel admits. He looks down as if to hide his spreading blush, but it is a futile motion. His gaze rises to look over the dead, damaged car. "My apologies..."

"It is not your fault, Sir Raizel," Ragar chimes. "I should have been more attentive. Had I more forethought, I would have refrained from partaking in the drinking activities. You were only doing what you were able, given the circumstances."

Frankenstein pushes himself off of the tree and crosses his arms. He sighs then looks at Ragar squarely. "Go find the nearest gas station and bring back a container of gasoline. Then we'll drive to the station, fill up, and head home."

Ragar nods. Within a fraction of a second, he disappears, leaving behind only a whisper of wind.

Left alone together, Frankenstein bows his head. "I apologize for my unseemly display, Master."

Raizel smiles at him with profound tenderness. He shakes his head. "You have always lived with unrivaled passion, Frankenstein."

Frankenstein stills and looks at Raizel like he is the world, and he knows, within the world, there is no one who understands him in the way that Raizel understands him. He smiles back, immeasurably touched.

They stand in the isolated, peaceful silence of the many-limbed forest.

Minutes later, Ragar returns with a heavy plastic container swishing with their prized gasoline. He looks into the distance past all the trees obscuring their vision. "There is a station eight kilometers in that direction. We are currently in the Songnisan National Park, near Boeun-gun."

Frankenstein's eyes widen. "It'll take us two hours to drive back to Seoul." He checks the time on his phone: 4:17 am. "But we should be able to make it to breakfast on time."

Ragar nods. He turns to the car, flicks open the cover of the tank, and carefully deposits their fuel. The now empty container, he tosses into the trunk.

"I will drive," Ragar decides.

The road home is long.

* * *

"Pull over."

"Hm?"

"Ragar, pull over."

Ragar does so, slowing the car down as he veers to the side of the road. When the vehicle comes to a stop, Frankenstein opens the door without commentary.

The smooth tunes of R&B music from the car speakers are interrupted by Frankenstein's inelegant heaving and wretching onto the sidewalk.

* * *

At six am, the car sluggishly rolls into the driveway. They step out, greeted by the crisp morning, the sun having just risen into the sky.

Frankenstein sighs, relieved to be home. His peace is short-lived, however, as the sound of a gentle, neighborly greeting pierces his psyche.

"Chairman Lee, good morning!"

Frankenstein cannot quite tell if it is the hangover or dread that ties his stomach into knots. He turns to her and smiles, sunny. "Good morning, Mrs. Woo. You are up early, as always."

She nods. Then, she notices the car. "Oh no, what happened?"

"...An accident."

She turns to him, friendly concern etched into her face. "You're rather pale. Is everything alright? No one is hurt, are they?"

"No, no one is hurt."

"That is argueable," Ragar quips from the side as he gives his mask a sheepish tug.

Frankenstein shoots him a quick annoyed glare.

Ragar blithely looks away.

Gloria looks between them, curious confusion twisting her expression before she relaxes again. "Well, I hope everything is okay. But, it's a good coincidence that I've caught you this morning, Chairman Lee. I've been meaning to invite you over for dinner some time this week." She looks at Ragar and behind him, Raizel. "And, of course, your wife and your...student are welcome to come over as well." She punctuates her offer with a winning Gloria Woo smile.

Frankenstein scrutinizes her. "This week?"

She nods. "Whichever day works best for you."

"I see. I will have to check my schedule and get back to you, Mrs. Woo. Thank you for the invitation." Frankenstein slightly bows his head and turns to walk inside, hoping that their conversation can end right then and there to spare him from exacerbating his panging headache.

"I look forward to it," she says as she steps towards her own car. "See you later, Chairman." She waves a goodbye. "And perhaps you two as well, Mrs. Kertia, Cadis."

"Rai is fine."

"Rai." She nods with confident emphasis as she gets into the passenger side, her husband waiting for her with his hands ready on the steering wheel.

The couple wave as they depart.

As Frankenstein opens the door, eager to retreat and recoup, Raizel places a careful, comforting hand on his shoulder. Finally, Frankenstein, Raizel, and Ragar are able to enter the safety their home once again.

Gloria watches them beyond her reflection in the window as her husband drives away towards downtown. "The Chairman's house always seems so lively. He has so many young people living with him. Do you sometimes wonder what goes on in there?"

"Not particularly."

"Chairman Lee and his live-in student seem terribly close..."

Her husband scoffs lightheartedly. "What are you saying, Gloria?"

"A _ménage à trois_."

He glances at her, eyes in wide disbelief above his glasses, before focusing on the road again. "With his _student?_ "

"I've never seen a student touch his principal like that. Or return home early in the morning in a wrecked car with a couple smelling so strongly of alcohol, I think I might be getting drunk from the fumes."

She hears her husband blow air, clearly amused by her ridiculous conspiracies.

Gloria smiles loosely and leans her head back onto the headrest, looking forward. She chuckles quietly at her own spinning stories. "Right, what am I saying?"

"You've always been a fan of those convoluted TV dramas."

She blinks, staring squarely ahead as a blush rises to her face. Huffing, she lightly smacks the crisp, dark gray sleeve of her husband's suit with the back of her hand.

"I'm sure nothing criminal is going on," he says.

Gloria rolls her eyes as she leans her cheek on her knuckles, her head resting against the chilled window as she watches the quiet suburban scenery pass by: trees and streets and homes.

"The Chairman, he's perfect, isn't he?" she murmurs.


	3. Whine and Dine

“Let’s get our story straight: You’re my wife of eight years. We met in America while I was on a business trip, but you’re initially from Singapore. Before we married and moved to Seoul, you were working a desk job at a software company in California.”

Ragar’s brow furrows. “I disagree.”

“What? What is there to disagree about?”

Coyly, Ragar tugs at his mask. “I would prefer a more glamorous occupation.”

Frankenstein blinks, his hand hovering over the lock of their front door. “Ragar, this is all made up; it doesn’t matter.”

“I would like a different backstory,” he insists.

Frankenstein pauses, barely able to restrain his eyes from rolling straight out of their sockets. Then he sighs, turning the handle to open the door and stepping outside at last into the crisp air of the emerging evening. “Fine, you can be whatever you want to be,” he concedes, hurriedly settling the matter.

And together, they head over to the house of the Woo family at six o’clock PM exactly. Frankenstein rings the doorbell not a second too soon and not a second too late.

* * *

The dining room is modern and spacious. Warm ambient lighting gives the food laid out an appealing glow, and the gray tiled floor is spotless.

“Oh, Chairman Lee, I think it’s so impressive that you’ve done so many things in the course of your life. Seize the day, as they say.” Gloria chuckles. “None of us are getting any younger, are we?”

Ragar, in his always astute attention, does not miss the quick crease between Frankenstein’s eyebrows. It smooths over hastily as Frankenstein artificially laughs along.

“But Mrs. Kertia, your skin is so flawless—so youthful.” The eyes of their host sharpen as she leans forward on the dinner table, the steam coiling from her bowl of rice touching her chin. “Just between us ladies...” she whispers conspiratorially. “What’s your secret?”

“My...secret?”

She nods.

“I have no secrets.”

“Oh?” Gloria leans back in her seat as she picks up her pair of chopsticks to top her rice with kimchi. “If you wouldn’t mind telling me, how old are you?”

Ragar blinks. He too picks up his chopsticks and helps himself to kimchi, though with his mask still in place, he has no real intention of eating. “I am...” His gaze darts over to Frankenstein, who stares at him with equal intensity. “...Thirty...nine.”

His friend closes his eyes in relief.

Gloria Woo nods, appearing convinced enough, but she continues then to ask, “How did you two meet?”

Her husband smiles alongside her, equally curious.

All eyes are pinned on Ragar. Under the spotlights, he refrains from tugging at his mask though his fingers momentarily jump to do so. “I was...sent to apprehend him for crimes against the state—“

Frankenstein almost chokes on his water but quickly and quietly clears his throat. His eyes are wide enough to pop, trained on Ragar, asking wordlessly, _What the hell are you doing?_ “Ragar—“

“I’m sorry?”

“Er, where are you from?” Mr. Woo’s brows are quirked curiously, his lips parted in bewilderment.

Ragar pauses. He takes in a quiet breath, and then, suddenly, the skies clear before him, and he steels his resolve to speak with a type of confidence one can only have when telling the truth. Finally, he elaborates that, “I am from a small island in Bermuda. Mr. Lee and I met when he was conducting research on the island’s native species. However, in doing so, he had violated a few of our local ordinances, and a colleague and I were sent to notify him of the matter.” Ragar pulls gently at his mask. “We became friends rather shortly after. When it was time for him to depart, I resigned from my position in Bermuda and left with him.”

“Hm.” Mr. Woo makes an impressed, approving face, raising his eyebrows. He nods as he visibly considers the story. “And then you traveled around the world together?”

“Indeed.”

“How romantic,” Gloria chimes.

“Ah, yes.” Frankenstein finally sets down his tall glass of water, now drained with only the slowly melting ice remaining. The ice cubes clink as they slide down to the bottom. “Ragar came from a very isolated community with a particular set of practices. The mask is traditional attire.” The line of his shoulders relax at last, and he looks at Ragar as he wears the slight curve of a smile, also looking impressed.

Everyone nods, and for a moment, all the pieces seem to fall into place, and peace graces the Woo house.

“So, how is the food?”

“The food?” Frankenstein stiffens.

It is Ragar’s turn to level his imploring gaze at Frankenstein with the hope that his friend might be able to set aside his bruised ego for the sake of maintaining an easygoing dinner. The thought of possibly offending their so-far courteous and friendly hosts to the point of being asked to shamefully leave chills him, but in the back of his mind, he knows to trust Frankenstein to at least maintain the veneer of graciousness.

“It’s perfect,” Frankenstein says, smiling like saccharide.

Ragar lowers his eyes and nods, approving of his response.

Dinner winds into later in the night with vapid and inoffensive conversation. “Mrs. Kertia, you haven’t had a bite to eat this entire time. Is everything all right?”

“Ah...” Ragar looks down at his single bowl of rice, now gone cold and clumpy. The chopsticks are still in his hand, though they have not been put to any good use this entire time.

“My wife has a sensitive stomach,” Frankenstein interjects. “She doesn’t eat out very often”—a blatant lie—“and had a light meal at home before coming here.”

Gloria makes an expression characterized by general sympathy and pats her cheek like a worried mother. “Oh...I’m sorry to hear that. If I’d known, I would have prepared something milder.”

“It is fine,” Ragar says. “Your kimchi chigae looks very good.” He stares at the hot green-tinted stew. A part of him inwardly sighs that his habits of clan code deny him the luxury of partaking in such well made food for the sake of preserving his mask in the immediate company of strangers, but he swiftly dismisses the errant thought and sets his chopsticks down to rest. Looking down at his bowl of rice, he feels tinge of guilt at letting food go to waste.

“Our daughter, Eun-ae, will be starting her fourth year at Harvard university this year,” Gloria offers as conversation rather proudly, holding her head high. “She studies physics and wants to work for NASA someday.”

Mr. Woo laughs jovially, eyes squinting with pride as well. “Ah yes, we’re so proud of her. Our son, Kyong—he likes to go by Kevin—is doing very well in school as well. Perhaps he’ll follow his sister to Harvard in a couple years.”

Silently, Ragar sets both of his hands flat on the table. “Yes, your children are impressive.” His eyes sharpen. “My eldest son currently holds an esteemed government position himself.”

“Oh! You have children?”

Frankenstein instantly pales. He is frozen stiff so that he does not even turn to look at Ragar when he glances over upon realizing the slip.

“Ah, yes, I do. Two.”

Gloria glances between her guests. “You’ve only been married for eight years. How old are your kids?”

Ragar sits in silence for just long enough to be strange. “Twenty-two and...eighteen.”

Her eyes widen. “You had your first child when you were seventeen?”

“...Yes. With...another man...”

“Where is the father now?”

Ragar stares into the middle distance for a second of silence. "He is dead.”

Frankenstein clears his throat into a fist. “Really, your food is impeccable, Mrs. Woo. The spices are—“

“So how is your youngest?” Mr. Woo inquires, leaning forward with almost morbid fascination.

“He is in prison—"

"I'm sorry, please excuse me; I have to take this call." Frankenstein's chair scrapes loudly across the floor as he stands and steps out of the dining room, holding his silent phone to his ear. "Mhm, yes..." he mutters just within earshot. After a moment of meaningless exchanges, Frankenstein quickly steps back into the dining room and tucks his phone into his pocket. He nods curtly at Ragar and then turns to the Woo's. "I'm so sorry, but something has come up at home."

“Oh...” Again, Gloria pats her cheek. “I suppose you won’t be staying for dessert then?”

“I’m afraid not.”

Mr. Woo twists around in his seat, throwing an arm over the back of his chair to look at Frankenstein. “Everything is all right, I hope, Mr. Lee?”

Frankenstein smiles, picture-perfect politeness. “I will have to get back to you on that, Mr. Woo.”

“Perhaps we can have dinner together again another time then.” Gloria brightens, clapping her hands together, a lightbulb flashing behind her eyes. “Maybe even at your home, Chairman Lee, and you can introduce us to the rest of your household.” She looks over to her husband, reaching out to rest a friendly hand on his arm. “Doesn’t that sound like a good idea, Honey?”

He nods deeply. “I’d love to love to come over some time.”

“We’d...love to have you.” Frankenstein smiles. He motions for Ragar to go. “Have a goodnight Mrs. Woo, Mr. Woo,” he says, and the two of them make a merciful getaway, disappearing into the night.


End file.
